


You Don't Have to Tell Me Why

by kuiske



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Angst, dworin - Freeform, implied PTSD, reference to future sexual relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuiske/pseuds/kuiske
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were best friends before either of them really knew what a <i>friend</i> was.<br/>For the longest time <i>friend</i> just meant <i>him</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Have to Tell Me Why

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not making money with this. All rights to their respective owners.

They were best friends before either of them really knew what a _friend_ was. 

*

There was a benefit to always having been a part of each others' lives. 

It meant not needing to explain when the words got caught somewhere between fear and _never show fear_.

Dwalin knew why Thorin turned white at the smell of spitted meat roasting over campfire. He knew why he ate his share cold for years, when he ate it at all. Often as not Thorin would give his portion to Dís or Frerin and refuse all gratitude. It was nothing. (It was not nothing.)

Sometimes there was no reason, though.

It was a rare peaceful moment and they were both drenched in sweat, sparring with wood now instead of steel though they’d fought with real weapons for years. In exile they couldn’t always afford to notch blades for the sake of practice. Dwalin was stronger, but Thorin was faster; they were evenly matched. (Dwalin was better, but Thorin had never learned how to yield a fight.) This time when Thorin knocked Dwalin’s wooden axe aside he didn’t bother to retaliate with his other one. He tackled Thorin to the ground instead, and the practice fight turned into a playful wrestle match with their mock weapons discarded on the grass. 

Thráin was supervising them from the sidelines and he definitely should’ve barked at them to take their training more seriously. He shook his head and said nothing. Both lads were breathless with laughter; after everything they still had youth in them, somehow. Let them be for a while. Just for a while.

Dwalin caught Thorin by the wrists and rolled him on his back, pinning his hands firmly over his head. He straddled him with a toothy grin that disappeared when Thorin went completely still under him. He never asked him to let him go. He never said a word, but Dwalin knew him well enough to know what he looked like when he was afraid, even when it wasn’t spoken aloud. _Especially_ when it wasn’t spoken aloud. (Out loud Thorin’s fear looked a lot like fury.) Dwalin released him and rolled on his side feeling something like dread himself. It was a horror worse than the dragon in some ways, to have his friend look at him like that. Frozen with fear he’d already learned to hide. 

His hands instinctively half-raised to a gesture of surrender Dwalin would’ve backed further away, but Thorin stopped him with an arm around his shoulder, fingers curling into a tight fist around the back of his tunic. Thorin’s forehead nudged against his, and Dwalin beat him to saying sorry, for once in his life. 

_It’s nothing._ (It probably wasn’t nothing.)

Sometimes there was no reason. Sometimes all there was was a body tensing up in fear and eyes full of plea lips couldn’t speak aloud. 

_Don’t trap my hands._

(I won’t.)

It would be years still until they’d hesitantly brush their lips together, years until hungry hands and hungrier mouths, until Dwalin pushed Thorin hard against a wall and Thorin’s teeth sank into his neck, bruising, drawing blood.

It would be years still, but some things don’t change over time.

 _Please don’t trap my hands._

(Never.)

There was a benefit to always having known each other. 

It meant never having to try to explain, when words failed and there was no reason at all. 

*

For the longest time _friend_ just meant _him_.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my incredibly strong headcanon of Thorin as the sort of person who's properly scared of having his hands restrained.


End file.
